


Kismet

by Bolontiku



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:10:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22129909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bolontiku/pseuds/Bolontiku
Summary: They both found the one they loved, their paths took them seperate ways. Kismet brings them back together.
Relationships: John Wick/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	Kismet

**Author's Note:**

> So, the brother challenged me to write out of my comfort zone. IDK where this is going, when I will update.

His hair hung about his face, wet and clinging, the rain pattered on the concrete outside. Opening the door wider she stepped aside to let him in. It wasn’t hard to see that he was in bad shape, she pursed her lips and sucked in her breath as he took two, three stumbling steps and leaned against the wall in the entrance, water making his usually impeccable shoes squeak against the expensive italian tile flooring of her home. 

What had happened? It must have been serious for him to show up here. 

The last time she had seen him was at his wedding, the memory of him in his tux, eyes glued to  _ her _ , smile breaking everything within her. Shaking her head she shut the door as thunder rumbled through the night air, charging it with electricity, setting her nerves on end, right hand twitching minutely.

A moment's hesitation before she wrapped an arm around his waist, old yet familiar weight leaning on her, familiar scent. Subtle cologne mixed with gunpowder and the scent of his blood. He limped beside her, grunting quietly as she led him to the kitchen, sitting heavily once she pulled out the chair.

She kept a medkit under the sink, in the kitchen, in the bathrooms, under her bed. Old habits die hard.

“Oliver…” his voice was strained, deep, exhaustion came off of him in waves, his fingers wrapped around her wrist sending a jolt up her arm. “You… could get in trouble,” he said quietly.

John was like that, quiet, at the worst of times that quiet was deadly, she wasn’t an idiot, she had worked alongside him before, she knew the danger that surrounded working with John Wick. She ran a hand through his hair, exposing his face as he sat back, letting his head fall to the side onto his shoulder heavily, “you let me worry about me, as always.”

He offered her a grin. His eyes slipping shut as he let his hand fall away from her. She moved to the sink, reaching under and pulling out the medkit, exhaling slowly before standing and turning back to him. “Shirt.” He groaned a little loud, as he leaned forwards and slowly stripped off his jacket. “Whoa,” she stepped closer, “John, is your shoulder dislocated?”

He hung his head and she frowned, “well… among other things," he grunted.

“Not a time to be a smart ass,” she sighed setting the kit down on the table next to him and grabbed his upper arm and wrist, “count of three then.” He nodded gritting his teeth and turning his head away, “one,” she jerked his arm up, shoving hard, John let out a curse. “Crybaby.”

“Wh-what happened to three?” he asked looking up at her from his spot.

Cute, the thought came quickly and she looked away. “What happened to three?” she mocked helping him with his shirt. She bit back the gasp, bruises littered across his torso, new cuts would lead to new scars. Pursing her lips she set to work, how long since she had seen this? How long since this had been the normal? It was only last month she had bruised her leg by catching it on the bottom cupboard.

John watched as she worked quickly, steadily, keeping his lips pressed tightly shut together when she brushed alcohol across his skin, when she threaded the needle he let out a low groan. Honey colored eyes met his, she smiled apologetically and he nodded.

**

She could hear when he turned off the shower. It felt like a lifetime since someone else had been in her home. The last person she had over was Mason, the boy that delivered her groceries, he had enjoyed her meatloaf.

“Who is it that makes you smile these days?”

Oliver jumped, eyes skipping over to him as she gripped the top of the chair. “No one.” John stared at her for a long moment, she cleared her throat and moved to the stove as the kettle whistled, deciding she didn’t need to watch as he used the towel on his hair. “Need me to cut that mess?”

He chuckled as she poured the tea. “No… you don’t like it?” he asked sitting down.

She set the cup in front of him and sat, not answering as she studied his face taking a long sip of the hot tea. “It’s been a long time, what happened John?” He wrapped long fingers around the cup, warming them, face grim. She watched as he rolled his shoulders, the weight on them heavy, there was only one reason he would be here, back in this life. The darkness in his mind clouded his eyes, a heavy burden she knew must hurt. “Let’s put a pin in that, still got the spare bedroom.” She stood placing her cup in the sink, “you drink that, I’ll get the bed ready.” 

She stopped when warm fingers wrapped around her wrist, a flood of memories coming back. “Oliver.”

Fingers twitched, “John.” She watched him, jaw working before it set in place, eyes locked on her wrist in his hand. She reached over with her free hand. “John,” she repeated, smiling when he looked up at her, “there is no danger here. C’mon, finish your tea, set the cup in the sink and find me.”

He nodded and his fingers fell away.

** 

Oliver stared at the ceiling, moonlight filtered through the glass doors, slipping past the curtains. Turning she shifted onto her side, slim fingers grazing the cool wall above her head. 

It had been almost ten years. It didn’t feel like that much. It had taken a lot to get outta the life, she knew that. 

She knew John knew that.

He had gone first, she had stayed a year more, thinking that it would help. Traveling helped, new places, new faces. It didn’t fill the emptiness she had felt, the loneliness she hadn't expected. 

**

Twenty years ago

“You’ll be working with a partner on this.”

“I work alone, you know that.”

“This one,” he sighed as she followed him through the lobby of the motel, “requires a little...ehh, finesse.”

She rolled her eyes as the elevator doors slid shut. “Why this? Why now Henry?”

He laughed, smile stretching from ear to ear. “You have never worked with anyone, you wish to work with no one, but would make an exception to work with one person.”

Again her eyes rolled as she followed him down the hallway. The door in front of them opened before he could get the cardkey out of his pocket. “John Wick.”

An eyebrow rose, brown eyes slid to the man next to her and then back, “you're Oliver?” she nodded, “I was expecting a man.”

“You’d be willing to go as a man married to another man?” she asked quickly, head falling to the side.

He shrugged, lips turning up at the edges, it was beautiful, “whatever gets the job done.” He stood to the side, giving them room to walk in before shutting the door. “I’ve heard about you, Oliver Hawk, you’ve been making a name for yourself in the past year and a half.”

“Nothing like what you’ve managed," she bit back quickly.

“Ehh,” he grinned and Oliver forced her eyes away from him. That was deadly in itself, but there was an underlying tone, she knew that tone, it sent a shiver of excitement through her. “Why is it though?” he turned to them, “you let talk go on like you’re a man?”

She giggled, the soft noise making him pause, “why would I argue? It creates a cover that even I never thought of.”

John immediately liked her. "You're pretty young."

She squared her shoulders, arms crossing over her chest, "that gonna be a problem? I get the job done."

He shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes, she was not one to back down and he knew she was the type to back up what she said. “Now, about this contract.”

Henry started, he had been enjoying their little exchange, it was the closest he would ever get to seeing her fangirl over anything that wasn’t food. He loved watching her when someone questioned her age or ability, it was always entertaining. 

John, of course, soon learned of her love for food. Chinese noodles, egg noodles, rather anything that was noodles, Henry kept it coming and she packed it away over the next five hours as they went over the hotels schematics, the exit strategies, their cover story. They talked weapons, the bed and dresser used as display for what they had. It was going to be a large event, fancy, John scowled and Oliver giggled, again the noise making him pause.    
“At least you won’t have to be the one in a braless dress, one leg hanging out of a slit, wearing heels to shove said breast up into the sleazy gazes of every man within a five mile radius.”

“Any man looking at my wife oughta be ready to pay for it with their lives,” he grumbled. It paid off, her giggle floating through the room once more, he liked the sound. He wasn’t the only one affected by it either, her handler Henry kept staring at her as if she had grown another head. “Alright, it’s getting late. Henry, there’s a room down the hall for you.” He frowned at John, mouth dropping open quickly ready to argue. “She’s my wife.” John stated as Henry sat back and looked at Oliver.

She smiled, setting her noodles down and giving him a face, “it would look odd to have a third stay with us… unless?”

“I don’t share," John nearly growled.

This made Oliver burst into a fit of laughter honey brown eyes scrunching closed and crinkling at the edges. 

John decided he liked that look on her. 

**

Present day.

John stared at the ceiling. He shouldn’t have come here, he knew that. Oliver had gotten out after he did, she had come to their wedding. He hadn’t expected anything less. 

Reaching up, he ran his hand along the cool wall, fingers curling in before he knocked three times. 

Three knocks answered.

A small smile slid into place as he shifted to his side.

Not much changed in the last ten years. 

Oliver was a creature of habit. 

He wondered if she still giggled? 


End file.
